Title: Our Nightmares
Author: Maggienhawk
Disclaimer: Well, after the disturbing news today, which I read AFTER writing….I can safely say that I do not own CSI. I'm not willing to be on the short lists of 27 million people…
Summary: Sara POV regarding her nightmares and those of the man she loves. GSR.
I know that people think that the cases I work on are too much for me to handle. That I get too emotional when it comes to solving a case for a victim of abuse or sexual assault. And they know that I have nightmares about the victims, or at least they suspect as much. Unfortunately, they're wrong. I don't have nightmares about the victims; I have nightmares about me.
The nightmares are always the same reenactment of events that changed my life years ago. They are violent, unwelcome intrusions to my sleep. I thrash around, fighting invisible demons. When I finally do wake up, I sit up quickly, trying to catch my breath as if I had been running for miles. Sweat pours down my back, my hair sticks to my neck and face, and I have to take a shower to calm down a bit. Showers have always relaxed me. But after the shower, I have to stay awake. I remember Grissom once asked if I ever slept. I told him "no," but never elaborated why not. See, people don't think that I, Sara Sidle, am afraid of anything. They're wrong, again. I'm afraid of my own dreams. I can't even lie down in my bed after some of the worst ones. I stay up and read my crime books, or listen to my scanner.
Or at least that's the way it used to be.
Now, the nightmares come less often, because of the comfort of knowing there is someone close to protect me. And when I do thrash about the bed, a strong arm pulls me close to a warm body that manages to sooth my fears. I told him what the nightmares were about the first time he watched me experience one, and wouldn't get back into the bed. We had shared the same bed for three weeks at that point, and it scared him that I didn't want to be in the bed, for fear of falling asleep again. I haven't spent a night out of bed since then, and he knows that it's not just empathy I'm feeling.
But I'm not the only who suffers from nightmares. I once accused Grissom of being unfeeling, of not ever getting emotional about anything. This time, I was wrong. He has his own demons that visit his dreams. Like mine, his have nothing to do with the cases we never solved, or the people we couldn't save. They deal with events of his past that he's told only me.
While I have violent reactions to my nightmares, his are much less obvious. But I always know that he is having one when he seeks out my hand and squeezes it tightly. If I wake up, which I normally do, I'll slowly turn to face him. A small grimace is always present on his face, and beads of sweat gather on his forehead. He sometimes mumbles incoherently. I lean up on my right arm, and stroke his face softly, every so often kissing him lightly on his cheek or forehead.
For some reason, he never wakes up in the middle of them, but manages to sleep through the whole thing. When they are over, he snuggles his head further into the pillow, and loosens his grip on me. I'll kiss him one last time, lightly on the lips, turn back around, and spoon myself back up against him.
When we wake up, we never say a word about the nightmares. We get up, go to work, solve nightmare worthy cases, all the while fooling our colleagues into thinking that I'm too emotional about my work, and that he doesn't feel a thing. But then we go back home, together, and fall into bed, hoping that neither of us has to ease the others pain during our slumber, but are able to sleep peacefully.
Maybe one of these days we'll dream about something different than rape or abandonment. I think that someday, maybe, we might be able to dream about love, to dream about each other.
But maybe I'm wrong about that.